The Burrow
by KatieFlint
Summary: It was strange how, despite being the only one of his siblings never to have children, Charlie somehow ended up with the Burrow. It was an outcome far from what anyone had planned, and truth be told Charlie wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.


A/N: Originally posted on LJ and AO3. This fic is the result of asking myself the question, "Out of the Weasley children (Molly and Arthur's brood), who would end up with the Burrow?", and then posing it to ickle-ronniekins the other night (thank you for your response, it really inspired me!). No one needed this, but now it is here and… Well, I'm sorry. Happy endings though am I right?

 _The Burrow_ by _KatieFlint_

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It was strange how, despite being the only one of his siblings never to have children, Charlie somehow ended up with the Burrow. It was an outcome far from what anyone had planned, and truth be told Charlie wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it.

It was true, Charlie loved the house from the clock without time on the mantle to the rickety staircase that led to the moon. And, it was true, growing up in this house, Charlie had stored memories in every crevice of every room; filling every book and sugar pot with a lifetime of tales shared between his siblings, young and old.

But this house, when he sat in it alone at night, Charlie could hear it weeping and he felt it's hurt tight inside his chest.

Charlie's parents, Molly and Arthur Weasley, had tried to give the house to his younger brother George at first. George tried, he and Angelina did, but in the end the memories proved too painful for George and the couple moved into town some miles off. They loved the house, but George couldn't live there without Fred.

Bill had always had the cottage, and his wife Fleur had completely transformed the sea-side home into her palace; Bill building each and every extension that she asked for. They were happy there and it was the only place their children had every called home. Bill couldn't take the Burrow, even if he had wanted too. He had already made a life for himself elsewhere.

Ginny, caught up in her full time career and increasingly demanding hobby of journalism, had moved her family near to the Grangers' residence some years ago. It was Hermione's idea, already moving there herself, to be closer to her parents. The two families grew ever closer, and were it not for the connection between their children and the Potters chaotic work schedules; they would've moved to the countryside in a heartbeat. Ron and Hermione were honor bound to remain close to the Grangers, taking care of them, and their family chose to spend much of its time in the non-wizarding community; providing their children with a balanced life in and out of the world of wizardry.

Charlie, ironically, wasn't even considered at the time. Unlike Percy, who simply had no interest in what he called a "hovel", Charlie's life was rather preoccupied. Still gallivanting about the mountains of Romania, he sought out the most impressive of beasts, living most of his days in a tattered tent and beat-up sleeping bag.

And he was loving every second of it, experience dragons in a light which few others had ever dared before. He was in his element, practiced and sure of his life choices; he was happy here.

One message from his brother sent Charlie packing. A heartfelt letter from a troubled George detailing their parents struggles with the hand-off of the Burrow and his own deep seeded regret for failing to settle there. Charlie, perhaps closer to George now than any other of their living siblings, took it upon himself to comfort George both by owl and in person.

Charlie was in England for several weeks after flying home by broom the night he received George's letter. George cursed him out for flying so long without reprieve and Angelina gave him her own piece of mind but they were grateful to see him, and it gave George great comfort to confide in a brother once more.

It occurred to Charlie, during his stay, that if no other family member could take the house, then perhaps the duty must fall to him. Charlie had never shirked responsibility before now but the thought of owning the Burrow was somewhat daunting. The house was meant for a swarm of redheaded children, not an aging bachelor with only his dragons to care for.

Still, after talking to his parents, Charlie found himself standing in front of his old home, wondering just what he was going to do with it. Selling it was out of the question, and had been from the start (though his parents had been close to considering just that before he came to them) and moving it, even via magical means seemed uncalled for.

No matter the choice Charlie made, he knew he was now tethered to one place again and he'd have to make the best of it. The Burrow was not simply a house you could leave to itself. It needed constant care and repair, and patching the charms on it was nearly a full time job in and of itself (his parents had even written a book for Charlie and his siblings just in case someone forgot one). This was his home again, and Charlie would have to adjust to life as it now was.

With great ingenuity and effort, Charlie transformed the barn and the other animal enclosures into environments suitable for housing young and injured dragons. If he could not return to his dragons full time, then he would bring his dragons to him.

The Burrow loved Charlie Weasley, and it loved the animals that he brought with him, but the house missed people. And, try as he did, Charlie was simply not enough. The house needed a family, and children, to love it once more.

Even for the house, which had given him so much, Charlie could not fulfill its desire. He was happy with himself as life were, and he could not, in good conscience, change that particular part of himself. But the problem prevailed and the pangs in his heart worsened. Something had to be done.

Then, on Christmas eve, a solution came. All of the Weasleys came. They came to celebrate the holiday in the place where they had always gathered in years past, and they brought with them their children.

The children, the house was delighted to welcome the children, and Charlie's felt a deep seated happiness swell within the Burrow. Charlie may not have children of his own, but he had oodles of nieces and nephews to come and visit him.

And they did, often. It wasn't every day you could say you'd helped feed a baby drakling or helped exercise a juvenile Ukrainian Ironbelly. These were experiences unique to having an Uncle like Charlie Weasley.

Fred II, son of George and Angelina Weasley, was particularly taken to visiting his uncle; not because of the dragons but because of the Burrow itself. The Burrow was different to him than to the other children. For them, they saw the precariously stacked building as a place of good fun and adventure, but nothing more. Fred enjoyed the adventure to be sure, but there was more to it.

Like his uncle, Fred II felt the heart of the house within himself. He could feel it speaking as it settled down to rest on those hot summer night, gently creaking a repeating lullaby, _Home home home._

Fred felt like he'd been here all his life; and living in his father's old room he became particularly adept at deserting old pranks, magical and otherwise, that were leftover. It was an old building to be sure, but it was special to Fred in ways he could hardly describe. Like a returning friend he'd been waiting for all his life.

Charlie grew older, and before too long, he knew the house would be needing a new owner. Of all the children who had come to stay with Charlie and the Burrow, there was only one the house felt was fit to become its caretaker and Charlie didn't disagree.

Fred, with his ragtag looks and deplorable charm, was the only one of all his relatives to stay once their NEWTS had come. The rest, spreading across the globe, were busying their lives with excitement and adventure, their spirit's charged and their hearts lusting for their own exploits; the nature of the legendary Potter-Weasley family growing with each passing year. They were tenacious, and they were young.

They were everything Charlie had been and more, once. The old man could hardly fault the fire he had once stoked himself. Charlie Weasley had been many things in his lifetime, but never had he been a hypocrite.

While the others found and made names themselves, Fred worked happily on at his father's shop, tending to it more and more as the years did pass. Here, amidst the tomfoolery and general silliness of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, Fred found an odd sensation of comfort. The shop called to him the way only one other building before had. _Home_ , it called to him and Fred knew he was where he belonged.

The shop was no place to live however, especially not with the young woman Fred had made his wife; and so he began to consider his options. Options which did not linger long. For, in the winter of his first year of marriage, his Uncle Charlie passed away peacefully in his sleep. There was no pain, and his animals had laid with him throughout the night, spending one last slumber with their master and loyal friend.

In his will, and in the will of the Burrow, Charlie named Fred the new caretaker of their family's devoted old home. It was hard to refuse the last request of his uncle, and impossible for Fred to resist the calling of the house itself. There was never any question, they would move in as soon as was humanly possible.

"It's not much, but it's home." Fred opened the door for his wife, leaning fondly against the door as she entered the Burrow.

She twirled in place, and with a beam, she responded, "I think it's brilliant.

That night, laying in their new bed, Fred listened to the house as it settled down, creaking softly. He smiled at what he heard,

 _'Welcome home, Fred.'_

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End

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